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Robby’s fresh out his post-shift shower when the front desk buzzes up. He frowns, not expecting company.
“What is it, Mr. Sommers?” he says through the intercom, one hand on the towel at his waist.
“Sorry to bother you so late, Dr. Robby,” comes the doorman’s voice. “I’ve got a Dr. Abbot here. Should I let him up?”
“Dr—uh. Yeah, yes, let him up. Thank you.”
Robby releases the button, mind uncommonly blank. He checks his phone; nothing. He manages to get sweatpants on, tug a t-shirt over his head before Jack’s at the door.
Robby gets it open the moment after Jack knocks, bracing for the worst on instinct. But there’s no obvious contusions, no blood, Jack looks fine. Ruddier than usual, maybe, but he’s got a bottle of whiskey in hand, maybe that’s part of it.
“What’s up, brother?” Robby says, stepping aside to let him in.
“Saw the way you favored your back today,” Abbot says. “And Dana told me you’ve been having trouble sleeping.” He drops his backpack on Robby’s floor, uncorks the whiskey.
“Don’t you have a shift to get ready for?” Robby asks, but he’s already pulling out two glasses, body still tuned to Abbot’s movements like they’re at work.
Abbot shakes his head, gives a reasonable but generous pour per glass.
“Took the day off they owed me,” he says.
“And this is how you chose to spend it?” Robby snorts, shaking his head. “Haven’t you had enough of me?”
He says it light, but Abbot looks at him heavy. Robby’s neck heats.
“Never,” Jack says. He swirls his drink. “To them,” he says, raising it for a toast. “And to us.”
Robby’s heart tugs. He nods, clinks his glass to Jack’s. “To them and to us.”
The whiskey’s good. Antithetical to what the shift felt like. Robby’d shoved a sandwich into his mouth the way home so the drink sits nicely on his stomach. Smooth and burny, a full warm thing. He physically feels the way it spreads through his nervous system, loosening his tight edges.
Abbot’s pulling something else out of his bag. Jack arches a brow.
“Don’t fight me on this, Robby,” Abbot says. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
“You wanna what,” Robby says, finger fidgeting on his glass, “give me a massage? On your day off?”
“It’s CBD oil and I swear it’ll help,” Jack says. “Fifteen minutes!”
Robby hates being fussed over. Hates being vulnerable, not in control. It’s part of what fucked him up with Heather, how badly he wanted to be perfect for her, how resistant he was to being tended to at all.
But—it’s Jack. He’s never had to worry with Jack. Never had to be anything but himself. They’d hated each other at first, in fact, each caught in too much self-loathing and uncomfortable with how much the other mirrored him. It eased as they grew up, and now Robby doesn’t know what he’d do without him.
“If you fuck up my back more you’re paying for my aspirin and whatever PT I end up needing,” Robby says.
“Fair enough,” Jack grins. “If you fuck up your back more the whole department’s screwed for a month at least. I’ll take my chances.”
“Holy—fucking—hell.”
“That’s it, brother. There you go.”
They end up on Robby’s bed, Robby facedown and stripped to his boxers, so Abbot has enough room to straddle him without cramping his prosthetic.
All Robby’s doubts vanished the moment Abbot set hands on him. The oil is cool on his skin; his muscles are loose from the whiskey and hot shower, and Abbot presses deep.
He knows, of course, exactly where it hurts. They’ve all tweaked their backs from lifting patients at one point or another, more now that they’re not resident-age.
Abbot works his knots, kneading with fist and thumb, his calloused hands slick with oil and so, so strong.
“Was I right?” he asks. Robby groans an assent.
“I forgot I could feel like this,” he says honestly. “Shit, Jack. I owe you one.”
Jack snorts, rubbing into him with clinical precision. “We’re way past that, brother.”
Robby chuckles. “Yeah. Fuck,” he adds, as something deep inside him cracks.
“Don’t blame you if you fall asleep, by the way,” Jack says. “I’d take it as a compliment. I can let myself out.”
But Robby feels more awake than ever. Something horribly like tears pricks his eyes again.
It feels so good it hurts. Feels incongruent with the day, the nightmare that was this day. How can all this coexist in one life, one body?
Then Jack finds another sore spot and Robby groans in relief, forced into the present with the pleasure. It does seem unfathomable. But it’s not. And Robby did good today, despite it all, did his best, he knows that. Jack knows that.
“That’s fifteen,” he says, glancing at his clock. He’d let Jack go for an hour, save the guilt of it, save how little he lets himself indulge. “Thank you, brother. Seriously.”
Abbot climbs off him, collapses on the bed, wipes his hands free of the oil. Robby stretches his freshly unlocked muscles and grins at him. Jack smiles back, pleased with himself.
“I’d return the favor but I’ve been told I’m shit at massages,” Robby says.
“Like I said,” Jack says, “we’re way past that.”
Robby looks at him. It’s intimate, Jack in his bed like this, almost painfully so. Touching him, tending to him. Robby usually hates this stuff. He finds he doesn’t, though, with Jack.
The thing with Jack Abbot is he has this powerful capacity to make anyone feel like they’re the most precious thing in the world to him, with just a look. Robby’s studiously kept this in mind, refusing to read into anything, because Robby’s learned he’s not the kind of man who keeps someone, and Jack is someone he can’t bear to lose.
“Yeah,” he says. “I—”
Jack’s still looking at him.
“I get you,” he says, and Robby’s brow furrows. “It’s okay. If—it’s okay.”
“Jack,” Robby says, uncommonly helpless.
Jack grins. That crooked, handsome thing, that face that is Robby’s safe space in all things.
“I know,” Jack says. “I got you.”
“Oh fuck,” Robby says, in quiet recognition. “Oh, fuck.”
And he lunges forward to finally kiss Jack Abbot, right on that crooked smile.
“Yeah,” Jack says, and slips his tongue into Robby’s mouth.
“I can’t,” Robby’s saying, trying to find the right words, lose you, be yours, be anyone’s, without saying no, because he is not saying no. His mind is so cloudy, his body almost alien with need. There’s only one thing that’s sure, one big, true thing.
“But do you want—”
“Yes.”
Jack smiles at him. Bites his lower lip, squeezes Robby’s arm.
“Then it’s just us, brother. Yeah? It’s still just us. Always.”
“Yeah,” Robby says, “yeah, okay.”
Jack cups his cheek, draws him in.
The kiss feels like home.
That sounds trite, corny, fairytale, because Robby’s had his share of first kisses—including with friends—and they’ve all been exciting and hot or whatever, but this is something else. An extension of the strange safety that is Jack Abbot, somehow as natural as breathing.
Cocksucker, comes Myrna’s jeering voice in his head, but just as the confusion and shame rises, Jack pushes into him, lets Robby get a thigh between his, and fuck, he’s hard, and the word doesn’t seem like a slur anymore. Jack makes a sound almost like a whimper as Robby rubs against him, and Robby finds he’s smiling into Jack’s mouth.
“You feel good,” he says, and Jack moans in agreement, hands spanning Robby’s chest.
“You too, pretty boy,” Jack grins. To Robby’s surprise, his own dick throbs in response. He’s hard, he realizes, how long has he been hard, here with his friend touching him? How long has he wanted this without letting himself? You have to compartmentalize, in this job. Sometimes you do it too much.
Thank fuck Jack was the one to break containment. Robby never would’ve.
“Did you come here to fuck me?” he asks, gasping as Jack licks a line down his throat.
“I came here to help you get some goddamn sleep,” Jack says. “Fucking you’s a bonus.”
Robby pulls back, looks at him with a furrowed brow. Jack lets some of the play seep from his expression, smirk softening into something warm. He draws Robby into a deep kiss. Stubble scratches stubble, their tired, muscled bodies move together natural and easy. So, so fucking easy.
“Us,” Robby repeats, his world cracking open. “Just us.”
”Yeah, brother,” Jack chuckles.
”Fuck.”
Robby watches as Jack takes his leg off, overcome by the desire to massage his stump for him. He fucking loves this man, every inch. He’s known that for a long time, just didn’t let himself face the fact that he wants him like this, too.
Robby moves reflexively to the condoms in his drawer, then pauses. It’s been a while since he’d fucked anybody—a long while. Definitely before he was last tested.
Abbot’s watching him, knows what’s going through his head. He grins again, crooked and terribly handsome.
“Whatever you want, brother. I’m clean.”
Robby shudders at the implication, the blood pounding in his dick. He takes out a bottle of lube and nothing else. Jack sucks air through his teeth, swearing terribly under his breath. He squeezes Robby’s thigh, the same confidence in his touch with which he massaged Robby’s back.
Few people can make Robby feel small in a good way. He knows he takes up all the air in the room, does his best to make space for other people. But with Jack, they’re evenly matched.
“You trust me?” Jack asks. Robby’s face cracks into a smile.
“Would we be here otherwise?”
Jack grins at him. Then his eyes move south, taking in Robby’s bare chest like it’s his first time seeing it. Robby thrills under his gaze, shocked at the urgency of his desire.
“Back on your stomach, then. Pants off this time.”
Part of Robby immediately balks at being told what to do. But it’s fucking Jack, and so he does it.
There’s a flare of shame—Jack’s still built like a soldier, and Robby just threw his back out at work, for crying out loud. But he meant it when he said he trusts him, and the sound Abbot makes when he sees Robby’s half-hard dick throws the last of his self-doubt out the window.
Jack guides him on all fours, propping a pillow beneath him to take the pressure off his back. He spreads Robby’s thighs, that’s a new feeling, and then—
”Fuck.”
Jack licks a long, wet, greedy stripe from the base of his balls up his crease. He kisses Robby’s hole open-mouthed. Spits on him, thumbs his tight little furl like he’s been thinking about this for ages, and then he puts his tongue inside him and Robby stops thinking entirely.
He hears a high whine, spares a moment of shock that it’s his own, and then loses his mind altogether when Jack wraps a spit-slick hand around his dick and starts jerking him off as he eats his ass.
How, how, how can this be the same body he takes to work every morning? He’s as worked up as a teenager, harder than he can remember being in years.
Usually when Robby fucks he’s so focused on the other person. No one’s ever done this to him. But it’s not just that, it’s just the glaring, simple truth of being in bed with someone who you’ve let know you, all of you.
“Jack,” he says, voice hoarse as he hugs the pillow. God, he can feel Jack grin into his ass. Jack licks him sloppy and wet, jerking him off too loose to get him anywhere, swirling his tongue around Robby’s virgin hole like he’s been dying to.
“You taste good, brother,” Jack rumbles, nudging his tongue deeper. Robby cries out, pounding his fist against the mattress. He wants to come, he needs to come, he needs this to never, ever, ever end. He’s rocking, he realizes, fucking himself on Jack’s tongue and into his hand.
“You’re a fucking tease,” Robby manages.
“You love it,” Jack says without missing a beat. Robby lets out a broken sob, cheeks flaming. “You want my dick?”
“Yeah,” Robby says. He hears the click of the lube, and then Jack’s sinking a thick finger inside his asshole and Robby cries out again, nodding unspoken assent.
The last time he felt almost hysterical with emotion was in fucking pedes today, a broken wreck of himself. How is this almost that, this overwhelming encompassing feeling, but it’s exactly the opposite? How did Jack know exactly what he needed?
That’s a stupid question, he catches himself thinking. Jack always does.
“Yeah,” Robby says again, “oh fuck, oh fuck. Yeah, Jack—I want your dick.”
It feels freeing to say, like he’s giving into something he’s been fighting a long, long time. He bears back against Jack’s finger, keening when Jack adds a second. Jack moves over him, fucking him on his fingers, rocking him open gentle but firm. It feels weird and almost painful at first, but Jack’s there sucking at his throat, grinding his hard dick against Robby’s hip, and something exquisite unfurls in Robby’s nervous system as he gets used to being worked open.
And then Jack grazes his prostate and Robby nearly comes like a teenager, hips bucking greedily, the pain in his back a distant memory.
“You needed this,” Jack tells him, teeth at his earlobe. Robby glances over his shoulder just enough to confirm Jack looks just as wrecked as he feels.
“You too,” he returns in a huff. Jack laughs. Pressed together like this, Robby can feel that laugh reverbate in his own chest. “I fucking love you,” he says, the words tumbling out of him with the thrust of Jack’s fingers.
Jack pulls out and kisses him, deep and filthy. Robby’s rutting a wet spot into his bed, so hard it hurts.
“Me too,” Jack murmurs, in answer to all of it. He shoves his fingers back inside, makes Robby’s jaw go slack, hands clawing at his sheets. Jack works him til tears spring in Robby’s eyes, til there’s absolutely nothing going on in any part of his brain except please please Jack now please, except when Jack actually pulls out to lube up his dick, Robby realizes just how badly he wants to suck it til Jack cries.
He must say something to this effect out loud, because Jack murmurs,
”Next time.”
Jack manhandles an incoherent Robby against the headboard, giving himself something brace against as Jack lines himself up.
“Oh fuck,” Robby says as Jack breaches him, “oh fuck, oh fuck.”
Robby has his share of vices, but tries not to get addicted to any one source of indulgence.
The moment Jack’s seated in him though, buried to the hairy hilt and spearing Robby’s little hole wide open, the thought bursts through him fully formed that he’s never wanted to succumb to an addiction more in his life.
“Michael,” Jack says, voice cracked through, more tentative than Robby’s ever heard him. “Is it—”
Robby hangs his head, panting. “So good,” he manages. “Jack, please—”
That’s all Jack needs. He draws out slow and rocks back in and Robby’s brain lights up in ways he didn’t know possible.
“Oh fuck,” he says, “oh please—”
“I got you, brother,” Jack rasps. He grinds deep, hands traveling the expanse of Robby’s back. So like how he touched him earlier, rubbing out his knots, just—more. “But do feel free to keep begging. I like that on you.”
A laugh breaks free, Robby swats back at him—and then Jack grabs that hand, shoves his face into the pillow, hauls him back on his dick, and starts to fuck him senseless.
“Yeah,” Robby sobs, “oh my fucking—God, Jack—”
“That’s it,” Jack says. “Arch your back for me. Go on.” Robby obeys, jaw going slack at the angle. He’s never been full like this, never been fucked like this, never felt such pleasure coming from his fucking asshole, never felt so out of control in his fucking life.
He goes tight, knuckles white on the sheets, as Jack Abbot uses him like he’s been dying to.
Twitching, making the most obscene little punched-out noises with every thrust, Robby reaches for his cock—but Abbot grabs his hand again. Stops. Leans to Robby’s ear, the change in angle sending Robby squirming.
“Let me try something first,” Jack murmurs, voice warm as sunlight. Robby doesn’t want to listen, Robby wants to come, has never wanted to come so badly in his life—and yet every single fucking time Jack Abbot’s said let me try something it’s only ever been the right move to listen to him.
Robby jerks a nod, shuddering. Jack adjusts them, spreading Robby’s thighs wider, bowing his back. Takes Robby’s hips in his hands. And when he grinds in deep this time, his thick, curved dick hits Robby’s prostate with clinical precision and Robby sobs into the pillow.
“Thought so,” Jack says, pleased with himself. Robby has the wherewithal to clench tight on him, delighting in making Jack’s hips stutter. But then Jack spanks him—not hard, just enough to smart, but no one ever has and Robby’s almost alarmed at how much the sting of Jack’s palm undoes him.
And then Jack gives him what he needs. Sets a hard, almost punishing pace at the perfect angle to nail his prostate relentlessly. Robby’s mouth falls open again as he devolves into nothing but Jack’s little fuckhole, losing himself—finding himself—in the rhythm of his thrusts.
This is why we’re fucking alive, he thinks. Not just saving people. This too. This too.
“You feel,” Jack says, voice rough with sex, “so fucking good, baby.”
And that’s it.
Robby’s orgasm hits him like a shock. He seizes in pleasure from his ass alone, dick spilling over the soft mattress entirely untouched, coming in hard, throbbing pulses with each grind of Jack’s beautiful cock.
“Yes,” Jack hisses, triumphant. He pistons his hips, holding Robby in place as he squirms and whines. “That’s it, brother, I got you. I knew you could do it.” He talks Robby through it the whole time, until at last Robby reaches out to slow him. Jack leans forward, buries a kiss in Robby’s sweaty shoulder. He pulls out, but Robby doesn’t let him go far.
“It’s okay,” Jack grins, settling himself seated against the headboard. “I got what I wanted.” He takes his own cock in hand, but it’s Robby’s turn to bat him away.
Wordlessly, effortfully, Robby clambers into his lap. It would be worth it just to watch Jack’s expression as Robby sinks his fucked-out hole on Jack’s desperate dick, but Robby wants more than that.
“Wanna feel,” he manages, burying his face in the crook of Jack’s shoulder, and that’s all he needs to say.
Jack’s arms come around him, holding him in a loose, sweaty embrace as Robby rocks on his dick best he can. Jack ends up bracing himself on one arm stumpside so he can thrust just so, not seeking to fuck him stupid anymore, just rocking into Robby’s body, taking what he needs.
“Got you too,” Robby says, butting his exhausted smile against Jack’s.
“Yeah you do,” Jack says. His eyes flutter shut, lower lip catching in his teeth as he chases his orgasm. “Robby—”
Robby kisses him. Jack moans in relief, hips stuttering. Robby grinds down, the ghost of his own orgasm throbbing sore around the hard column of Jack’s cock.
“I’m gonna—” Jack gasps.
“You better,” Robby grins, and gently sinks his teeth into Jack’s lower lip.
Robby’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life than Jack Abbot twisting in pleasure. His mouth goes crooked, brow furrowing, his fingers tight on Robby’s hips—and then he groans in release, expression crumpling, and Robby feels his hot cum deep, deep in his ass for the first time in his life.
“I fucking love you,” it’s Jack’s turn to say, when he regains the ability to speak. Robby pulls off him with a squelch, ears reddening at the not-unpleasant sensation of his wet, loose hole.
“Me too, brother,” Robby says. They sink into the mess of the bed. Look at each other. And crinkle into soft, satisfied chuckles. “Holy fuck.”
“I’ll say,” Jack says with a stretch. They catch their breath but find each other on instinct, pressing into each other’s arm, his thigh, a nonverbal reassurance.
Robby shakes his head.
“Anal’s one thing,” he says. “But I never thought I’d have a fucking prostate orgasm, especially at this point in my life.”
Jack’s familiar laugh feels almost as good as the sex.
“Something something old dog, new tricks, yeah?”
Robby shoves at him, but he’s laughing too.
Both of them sleep better that night than they have in years.